Beneath the layers of the mind a sanctuary lies
that holds nothing but the emotion of memories.
The ocean raging above keeps tossing
the waves of turmoil that can’t reach the depth,
for they remain superficial in the realm
where the unwavering passion,
shackled by the steady resistance of self-belief,
impedes the essence of being from drifting away.
It’s not a chain that imprisons,
but a timeless acquirement that stabilizes
with silent promise of finding a stable place
where at the depth of soul the ancient mariner finds
in the receding horizon of time the ocean floor
where love once sank into obscurity
that still holds the heart where it belongs,
reminding that anchorage is the other name of being not lost.
Another long night with the Succubus
Too long you have haunted my dreams
A temptress, a shrew, a wraith through and through
That wallows in glee at my screams
Your fiery gaze will blind vision
Your silent approach will consume me
Then flaunt with a grin a body of sin
Flames of desire to bind and entomb me
That kind of passion imprisons my soul
But unreluctantly cuts like a knife
Should have known all along your Succubus song
Would serenade me the rest of my life
That vacuum
inside you
once in it
you’re trapped
Insular
nothingness
too late
to look back
What’s empty
imprisons
no reference
in space
Where freedom
and choice
become duly
— erased
(Dreamsleep: June, 2025)
Each wrinkle scribes where adventure found
Each tattered map sketched with their speckled blood
Tales remembered where time never stood
Trodden swiftly and buried underground
Memories linger in an aged mind
Which does yearn escape and in comfort sought
In loving embrace and battles once fought
Lies in a weakened state for all mankind
Conversation drawn in quieter day
Where solitude imprisons, sentence drawn
No quarter given when body now worn
Where silent victor and no words to say
It tells the soul,
I’ll give you wings.
I’ll enlighten you and bring peace.
I’ll fill your mind with a brilliant idea.
I’ll cause your heart to feel like it agrees…
With me, anything is possible –
Even the darkest doubts will see…
With me, the champion, the star –
There is a promise of no worries, no qualms,
No reason to doubt the alcohol.
It tells the soul,
You’re free to do anything,
You can dream and believe.
You can always achieve.
You will know and agree… this drink,
It provides your mind with ingenuity,
Gives your heart wings, your life originality.
It tells the soul,
Yes, oh yes, you are free,
While, in secret, it locks the chains,
Chains sent to expose your insecurity,
Chains meant to destroy your certainty,
Chains sent to darken your skies,
And bleed worry into all of your nights.
As it tells your soul – you are free,
It imprisons you with bonds that, in fact,
Will make it nearly impossible to breakout,
Escape the tears, the fears, the years…
Seas of heartbreak and loneliness,
Seas of misery and melancholic fate,
Seas who drown you in an alcoholic’s regret!
insistent emphasis
dogmatic views
make for faith
fundamentalistic
specious belief
eristic rigidity
stagnates in a cave
caging spontaneity
seeking without surrender
clinging to scriptures
imprisons the soul
in a mind trap
repeated affirmations
manifest heart’s aspirations
as a conjured epiphany
deepening delusion
sans thought who are we
unfettered and unbound
beyond mental concepts
look for that oh hermit
In the shadows of Hell House,
Behind a darkened door.
Evil lurks with greedy eyes,
Where the light shines never more.
In search of wayward souls,
To cast in dungeons deep.
Beelzebub imprisons,
Those to face eternal sleep.
Their lust is but his weapon,
Their envy feeds his glee.
Behold the Lord of the Flies,
Growing fat on gluttony.
His will grows ever stronger,
While the weak forever prays.
On their knees in servitude,
Until the end of days.
For a grieving mother, pain goes the extra mile, it wilts her soul and destroys her smile.
A burden so heavy as she carries that cross, no one can imagine the reality of her loss
Her existence is tormented by the struggles through life, the pain so unbearable, it cuts her like a knife
The demon of pain imprisons her mind, joy, and laughter she will rarely find.
God, what is the purpose? I do not understand, I thought you were our king and savior, the one that made the plans
The pain is evil and never goes away, it makes a mother think
"why in the hell do I have to stay?"
Years have gone by and most everything’s the same, that rose once so beautiful is now destroyed by her pain, but...
She continues to fight her demons until the day God calls her home,
With wilted petals on the ground as the rose remains alone.
By Karen Powell. ©
Still searching for my permanent address,
seeking where I really live, fit in.
Suspended between life’s already-happened
and soon-to-be-memories moments.
Longing for a white-picket-fenced home,
landscaped in self-trust, self-respect,
with room for a full-of-love heart.
Instead, I discover a crumbling castle,
mossy, dank dungeon of the mind
imprisons me.
The jagged nettles of cruel abuse
doled out by my dark thoughts
pierce my soul.
Spirit sapped, barely staying alive.
Hope, in one tiny sliver of daylight
in the cracked castle wall,
penetrates the darkness.
When push comes to shove,
will there be enough shove left in me
to rise above,
to finally reside in happily-ever-after?
My choice.
Bring to mind
the effortless sway and flex
of this great shark gliding
the gulf’s clear waters -
the play of dappled light
through a world wired to each
nerve and muscle arrayed
along its rippling mass.
Begin to feel the slow pump
and ease of its idling heart,
the taut still of a brain
cocked in the lee
of its frenzy, a dreamlike
shimmer of awareness
flickering somewhere
deep in its inner dark.
Be that shape silhouetted
on the roof of its world,
a shadow glanced in the corner
of an eye to come nearer
to what gives this nightmare
motion - the terror
of its alien perfection
bound in blood
to swim oceans framed
within the mind's vast sweep.
More real now than imagined
and given form to stalk
these unbounded depths,
an escaped denizen
from that cage which both protects
and imprisons you and me.
I'm talking about this fabric, this cover that surrounds us and establishes the limit of ourselves, that conditions our thoughts and imprisons or protects the self.
I'm talking about this dome,
this cocoon that encloses our individuality
like a vase that contains everything we are:
the body that begins to die when it is born,
the conscience that screams and cries without ceasing,
the thoughts that ricochet off the walls of this house of flesh,
on the sides of this nerve box,
confined in this coffin of bones.
Doublethink belief, boon or bane
Environ conditions
Know that map is not the terrain
Narrowness imprisons
Here, now ego decry
Begin, by asking ‘why’
Free like birds, in the sky
Let’s give soul relief
Doublethink belief
~~~
Doublethink belief, we’re reborn
Halfway across the world
Memory erased, beliefs shorn
Yet bubbling joy, unfurled
The same sun shines on all
Hark the divine love call
Manifest as bliss squall
Ego ploy the thief
Doublethink belief
~~~
Doublethink belief, stop thought flow
Stillness ushers deep calm
Once heart mellow, we feel soul glow
God’s touch the healing balm
Each form, Holy Spirit
Judge not fault or merit
Walk path of truth with grit
Let’s turn a new leaf
Doublethink belief
28-November-2021
Triple Quietus
The frenzy takes center stage,
where it feeds on urges
that reflect its animal nature.
Hurried, it further imprisons itself
within doubt and uncertainty.
Restless yet hopeful, it begins
the process of investigation.
Shedding light on activity,
it plays behavior on loop.
Moving further away from yearning,
it begins to immerse in quietude.
Disengaged and energy preserving,
it sets on the path to
the Ultimate Reality- a space
where impulses prove fruitless,
and the self is relinquished.
The stages of jhana are fulfilled and
Nibbana is quickly approaching.
Here, the mind relishes in equanimity.
For some folks, it’s a marathon
Of lonesome country miles
That stretch along a winding road
At every runner’s pace.
For others, it’s a full-on sprint
Of pounding, driven strides
That hammer toward the finish line
To claim the winner’s place.
Could be a relay in exclusive lanes,
Or a wide field open run.
Could be a rally’s check point drama,
Or a thrilling steeple chase.
But then you have those other folks
For whom it’s a ball and chain,
A shackle that imprisons minds
And robs their souls of grace.
They see the world in black and white,
But it’s not the checkered flag;
It’s a loser’s way of claiming
They define the human race.
Straddling Town boundary, brick spawl
Hill vista stabled horse sanctity five acres
Dishes decades of rural dream enthrall
Imprisons middle aged, once a girl elated
Saddle, bridle, hay bales, blankets, braids
Gave naive teenager safe zoned focus
Partnership purchase pony land band-aid
Stole pull of nurturing mother purpose
Faded rainbow ribbons drape forlorn
Dressage shows require rider's devotion
Determined framed duo, walls adorn
Equine equate to offspring, team's token
18th June
Unequivocal Ideal Youth
Coddled Comfortably Rots
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